


The Music In My Heart

by mydogwatson



Series: Once Upon A Time At Xmas [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Music, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 11:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The universe continues to bring Sherlock Holmes and John Watson together.<br/>And separating them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Music In My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted say thanks for the lovely comments and kudos. Hope you continue to enjoy my little gift to you all.

The music in my heart I bore,  
long after it was heard no more.

-William Wordsworth

 

John Watson was terrified. He had never been this frightened in the entire sixteen years of his life. And they weren’t even inside yet. He was just stepping down from the coach, his clarinet case held firmly in one hand. Once safely on the pavement, he came to a dead stop and simply stared up at the Royal Albert Hall.

Who the hell had decided that anything about this whole evening was a good idea?

Perhaps in theory it had sounded good. Five schools [two all boy, two all girl, one co-ed] would be chosen from all around England to present a holiday concert at this prestigious London venue. It was all quite in the spirit of the season. The thing was, John had absolutely no idea how his frankly second-rate academy had even made the cut. He himself worked very hard, because he wanted to get into a good uni and then go on to medical school. But he was in the minority of the student body.

As a result, the orchestra was about what one would expect. He only stuck with it [while admitting that his own musical skills were not very good either] because it helped make him look like a well-rounded person. Rugby and music and top grades. It all had to help.

So it was all a bit of a surprise to find himself here, with an orchestra scheduled third on the bill, playing a part of the Christmas Oratorio and The Waltz of the Flowers from Nutcracker. Both pieces had been adapted for the particular make-up of their orchestra, so everyone got to participate. Frankly, John would rather have stayed home, although home was not a place he ever really wanted to be, so that was saying something.

Someone shouted at him and he scurried to catch up with the others. He tried not to notice another group disembarking from a much newer coach not far away. Holy shite, he thought, they’re all in bloody tuxedos. 

“Buncha fucking fairies,” someone muttered.

John just shrugged. He knew that his school’s regular uniform of dark blue blazers and grey trousers was going to look quite ordinary in comparison, but there was nothing to be done about that.

Once they had checked in with the organisers, the group was ushered into a rather small room to wait. After just a few minutes of listening to his bandmates chattering nervously or making crude jokes about the tux-clad group, while wondering where the girls were, John had had enough. He located a side door and went out, propping it open with his water bottle. Finding himself in a shadowed cubby, on the park side of the hall, he stopped there, taking a couple of deep breaths.

“Being nervous will not help your performance,” a low and silken voice said from the darkness.

John turned and saw only the glowing tip of a cigarette and a profile framed by unruly curls. “Well, smoking won’t help yours,” he snapped in return.

There was a chuckle. “Luckily, I play violin,” the voice said. “Lung capacity is not terribly important.”

John couldn’t help smiling at that, although he ducked his head to hide it from the boy in the shadows. “Rather important for breathing, though,” he pointed out.

A disdainful snort was the only response to that.

There was a long pause. John looked up at the dark London sky. “Can’t see the stars here,” he commented.

“Too much ambient light.” The voice sounded bored now. “Do you often waste time looking at the stars?”

“I like it,” John said defensively. He could now make out that the boy was wearing a tux, so knew that this was one of the posh boys. Well, with that voice, what else? Although he was slouching against the building, the boy looked tall. Posh and tall.

“Hmmm.”

John didn’t want this stranger to mock him for his stargazing, because it meant something to him, had for a long time. But he certainly wasn’t going to explain anything about it to some nicotine sucking git. He could feel the gaze that seemed focussed on him. “What?” he asked irritably.

“Don’t feel badly that no one from your family is here to watch,” the boy said suddenly.

“What? How do you--?”

“Really you’re relieved about it, aren’t you? Because probably there would have been alcohol involved and the whole thing would end in tears.”

“I don’t know you, do I?”

There was a pause, before an answer came. “No. And I don’t know you. But it’s all rather obvious.” The boy dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his shoe. “My parents are in Prague for a state funeral. Unavoidable. My hideous brother is too busy climbing the ladder of government power.”

Abruptly, John sympathised with this stranger. “Well, I’ll listen to you,” he said.

There was another, briefer pause.

“All right. I’ll listen you to as well.”

John gave a nod and went back inside.

 

It had all gone fine, John thought, as the orchestra filed off the stage. They had made no big mistakes and the audience had applauded nicely. He wondered if the boy from the shadows had really listened. Well, whether he had or not, John intended to hold up his end of the bargain. He stood in a corner, hidden by the drapery, and watched as the Eton orchestra took over the stage. He could see no one tall enough, thin enough, or with enough curls to be the boy he had talked to.

But once everyone else was seated, the violin soloist walked onto the stage. Immediately John knew it was the boy he’d been looking for. He peered at the program in the dim light. 

VIOLIN SOLO by Sherlock Holmes.

The music was beautiful and Holmes performed it like a boy possessed.

As John stood there watching, he suddenly realised without a doubt that this was the same boy who had given him the astronomy book five years ago. Taller, thinner, with more hair, but definitely him. 

For one thing, how many Sherlocks could there be in the world anyway? Briefly, he wondered just what would be the odds of meeting the same person years apart and in a far different place. That might merit some thought later, John decided.

Right now, though, he could only hope that Sherlock had not remembered him and that humiliating Xmas lunch in the church hall.

 

When the concert ended, John followed his bandmates out of Albert Hall, glancing towards where the Eton coach was parked. Sherlock was already sitting in the very last seat, looking out of the window. He saw John and raised a hand in farewell. John returned the gesture, understanding at that moment that Sherlock had indeed remembered their earlier meeting as well. But the idea of that no longer bothered him. It was a moment they had shared and suddenly John did not mind being reminded of it. He climbed into the coach and, perhaps coincidentally, also settled into the last seat. He looked across the space between them and saw that Sherlock was still watching him. He smiled and, after a moment, Sherlock gave a smile in return.

As John watched, the Eton coach pulled away first and was quickly lost in the London traffic.

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow: Cold Space Between The Planets


End file.
